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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25605205">The Shadow of Fear</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackerooooons/pseuds/Mackerooooons'>Mackerooooons</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I can't not include him, Kinslaying, Maglor's POV, Misery Loves Company, of course Maedhros makes an appearance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:59:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,375</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25605205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackerooooons/pseuds/Mackerooooons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Feanorians attack Doriath. Things go as well as in canon. Meaning they don't go well at all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amras &amp; Amrod (Tolkien), Caranthir | Morifinwë &amp; Maglor | Makalaurë, Celegorm | Turcafinwë &amp; Curufin | Curufinwë, Maedhros | Maitimo &amp; Maglor | Makalaurë, Maglor | Makalaurë &amp; Sons of Fëanor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Shadow of Fear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just a bit of awfulness to brighten your day! :)</p><p>Warnings for kinslaying and all that comes with it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>'The shadow of fear is between us and the sun, and all things look as if they were already lost.' The Lost Road</p><p> </p><p>Maglor looked across the snowy plain. It wouldn't be long before they met the great trees of Doriath, a place he'd never been before. This wasn't his idea of sight seeing. </p><p>Of all his brothers, only Maedhros had been here before, and that to negotiate for lands for each Feänorion. He had been gravely ill, weak and emanciated, with his right arm bound to his chest to keep it from dislocating. </p><p>Somehow, he'd impressed Elwë enough for each son of Feänor to have lands of his own. Now they were coming back to claim something else, something that belonged to them.</p><p>And Maglor hated it.</p><p>Celegorm, however, seemed bright like he'd not been in centuries. The black fire of revenge burned in his eyes, counting down the minutes until he could slay the half-elf that represented his lost love, if love it had been. </p><p>Maglor shivered, not because of the cold.</p><p>Maedhros had lectured almost ceaselessly after that fiasco, and when Celegorm and Curufin had distanced themselves, he still sent his wayward brothers near endless letters of reproach. </p><p>Then the Nirnaeth, and Maedhros ceased to care. After his capture his spirit seemed to have been built only upon Fingon, and now all that kept him from fading was the Oath.</p><p>Maglor stole a glance at his stony-eyed brother, riding stiffly enough that it looked painful. Maedhros had argued against a siege. Not strongly enough. In the end, he too had submitted to the Oath.</p><p>Dior had not replied to their treatise, and they came for him.</p><p>A shout of the door warden startled him from thought.</p><p>"Halt! You are not welcome here. Turn back, else-"</p><p>They never found out what else. Celegorm nocked another arrow. "Else" wasn't hard to guess, and it was too late to turn now. The watchman's partner fell from the wall just as soundlessly, joining his companion in the snow. No more guards came forward.</p><p>Maglor couldn't help but smile. The stupid Sindar had done just as they'd expected. Most were celebrating the Winter Solstice, the rest were focused on the southern border, where attack had been expected. They should have a clean path through the eastern boarders straight to Menegroth.</p><p>Maglor's gaze lingered on the fallen guards, on the stark contrast of blood in snow. He wondered what their names were, whether they had families. He wondered if it mattered.</p><p>The songs of Menegroth became more audible the closer they came, welling up from the ground like a spring. </p><p>How different they were from the songs of the Noldor; sinuous, winding, slippery almost in their unstructured simplicity. Their beauty was of trees and vines and rivers, not mountains and grasses and strong foundations of stone. It swayed and spun; it did not make the heart beat to the rhythm of the drum or race with the strength of whirling chords.</p><p>Perhaps after he slew the people of Menegroth he would find himself capable of producing the same sound. So it was with the Teleri. Perhaps if he killed one of the Ainur he would be able to replicate the Song of Eä. Perhaps not. He doubted he'd ever know. </p><p>But now the gates were visible and a clear horn rang out in warning and the singing stopped and the battering ram was brought forth and Maglor began his prayer for all those who would die.</p><p>Menegroth was no fortress. It had relied on the Girdle for protection, and though the gate had been reinforced, it was not enough. The doors burst inwards and the soldiers of Menegroth burst outwards, into the waiting arms or the Noldor. </p><p>Arms of war, of course. Maglor chuckled at his own joke.</p><p>And then it began. And Maglor raised his sword, and brought it down. He raised it, wet with blood, and swung again. </p><p>All faded but the rhythm of the fight, the need to live. Swing, parry, stab, swing, kick, swing. Blood - red, not black - spattered his armour, dripped off his hand, flew from point of his sword, smeared on his cheek. It made him sick, but he fought on.</p><p>A knife breached his calf, and he howled in pain, turning his horse, trodding down the elf who had gotten the better of him. </p><p>She was an elleth. He froze in horror, long enough for his mount to receive an arrow to the eye. He leapt from her back as she crumbled, rolling into the fray. </p><p>He did not pay mind to the wound in his leg. He could not. He swung, parried, swung and parried again. He located his brother Caranthir in the chaos, and the two faced back to back, protecting each other and striking down any who came too close. </p><p>Maglor began to sing a Song, and new strength flowed into all the attackers. The tide turned, and the Noldor began to carve a path into the throne room. Maglor pulled Caranthir in the direction of the maze-like halls of Menegroth.</p><p>"We must find it!" Maglor shouted over the noise of battle. His brother nodded, and they cut their way to the tunnels. Side by side they ran through hall after hall, tearing apart each side room in search for their birthright. </p><p>After what seemed hours, as Maglor was busy emptying a wardrobe, he realised that Caranthir was not with him. A ragged gasp cut through the air, followed by an elf maid screaming. </p><p>He shot from the room, only to freeze at what he saw. Caranthir lay prone on the ground. An elleth kneeled on him, screaming as she thrust a cooking knife through a chink in his armour again and again and again and again. Maglor roared. "Stop you fool! He is dead, already dead!" He kicked her from his brother's body, and when she had the gall to raise her knife towards him, he lobbed her head off in one stroke.</p><p>Turning, his brother filled all his eyes. He knelt beside him, carefully rolling him over. Caranthir's eyes were lightless, like those of the Avari. They were graced with no mischief, no rebellious fury. They stared through him, mouth open in surprise. </p><p>Maglor cradled his little brother's head in his lap, bowing over him, shaking with tears that would not come. </p><p>The halls receded, the sounds of the battle muted. All seemed as dark as little Moryo's eyes, red as Carnistir's ruddy, bloody cheeks. Time slowed.</p><p>Then-</p><p>A young voice. "Thad?" Maglor looked up slowly, and blinked at the  babe before him. She was tiny, with black hair and a silver circlet crooked on her forehead. She measured him with piercing eyes.</p><p>She spoke again. "Don' be thad. Thiney thing make you happy?" She held out a wooden box. All Maglor could do was stare blankly at the girl, holding tight his little brother's head.</p><p>"Elwing!" A shout rang sharply through the air. A maid ran towards them. "Come, Ewing. Get away from the bad man, now!" Elwing just looked at him. </p><p>"No. Not a bad man. A thad man. Make him happy? Thiney thing make Ada happy." She offered the box again. </p><p>A spike of need cut through Maglor,  stabbing through the haze of shock, piercing the well of grief. He almost drunkenly reached forward. But before his fingers touched the box, it was plucked away. Elwing was snatched up, and the elleth sprinted past. </p><p>Elwing shouted her disagreement to the maid, her cries answered with a wail of another. </p><p>It took Maglor a moment to realise that that wail was his. He tried to rise, but couldn't, eyes cought thrall by the empty ones of his brother. </p><p>Thus he stayed, suspended in tearless, thoughtless grief, until a Man from Maedhros' forces approached him.</p><p>"Lord," he said, kneeling accross from Maglor. "Your brother seeks you." </p><p>Maglor could only stare bleary-eyed at the Man. He spoke again. "Lord, the lords Curufin and Celegorm have fallen, and in revenge the servants of lord Celegorm have driven to the woods the children of Dior. The lord Maedhros requests your help in the search."</p><p>"Four." </p><p>The Man looked taken aback. "Four? Mi'lord?"</p><p>Maglor smiled brokenly. "Four. Four of my brothers dead. Over half of us are gone, all at the hand of our kin. It has a certain sense of poetry, does it not?" The Man swallowed uncomfortably. </p><p>Maglor spoke again. "Amras lives?"</p><p>The Man nodded. "We thought he might not have made it- he'd lost a lot of blood. We found him shot in the great hall, speaking in the High Tongue to his reflection in the floor. The healers stabilised him mostly, but he keeps shouting for his Ambarussa. Do you need help with Lord Caranthir?"</p><p>Maglor shook his head mutely. He carefully scooped up his brother and carried him to the throne room. Celegorm and Curufin laid side by side, eyes closed in death, but expressions far from peaceful. </p><p>Maglor deposited Caranthir beside the bodies of his brothers. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and stumbled back, almost plowing over the Man who followed him, bearing the body and head of the elleth who killed Caranthir. </p><p>"Ho there, don't fall mi'lord," he said. "Lots to trip on in here, and none pleasant." </p><p>Maglor composed himself. "Celegorm and Curufin, how did they die?"</p><p>The Man thought a minute. "I don't rightly know how the Lord Curufin died, though he was second to go as I hear. Lord Celegorm killed Dior and was so happy about it that he didn't notice that Dior had speared him through until he'd fallen off the dais. I'm sorry this all had to happen, mi'lord. Valar know I wish Morgoth had never been made. It all seems to trace back to him, doesn't it?</p><p>"You know, my grandmother once told me-"</p><p>The rambling guard was (thankfully) cut off by (not thankfully) a frazzled Maedhros, bloody and exhausted, yet running as if Arnor was lit under him. </p><p>"Maglor I need your help. Dior had three children, a girl Elwing and twin sons Elúred and Elúren. Elwing is missing, but the sons-"</p><p>Maglor cried out. "Elwing, you say?! Young, only around three?"</p><p>Maedhros did not appreciate the interruption. "Yes, the boys are six and she is three. We must go-"</p><p>Maglor cried out again and sat down on some poor corpse's hand. "Brother, I was just offered the Silmaril on a platter!" He choked. "Offered! And I was so blinded by grief that I let it pass!" He shoved himself up. "Elwing. We must find her. She had it, has it, must, where are the refugees? There must be some, for her body is not here. Indeed most children are not, we must find her!" </p><p>To his shock and fury, Maedhros did not turn. "Nay, we must find the two children. They will die and it will be on my hands and I cannot do that. Maglor, help me."</p><p>Maglor shook his head. "We must find the jewel, or it will all have been for naught. Those who died-"</p><p>"THOSE WHO DIED KILLED CHILDREN." Maedhros roared, startling all in proximity. "I will not bring any more to harm. Maglor, you <i>will</i> help me seek the twins."</p><p>"Not all who died are guilty! Look around you, there are so many dead, dead who will have died for our Oath, died for naught if we do not find the Silmaril! That is what I will seek."</p><p>Maedhros glowered. "Then you seek alone. If I do not return in six days, do not attempt to find me." He turned on his heel and strode from the hall. </p><p>Maglor whirled to kick something and ended up kicking Curufin's boot. Sending his (dead) brother a mental apology, he looked to the Man from earlier. "Your name?"</p><p>The Man smiled. "Laegrist I am called, lord, after I dropped my weapon in a murky pond. I was a boy, see, and-"</p><p>Maglor interrupted him. "Laegrist, take a team of soldiers, and begin to track the refugees. Focus on the western marches. And try to curb your tongue near the dead."</p><p>Laegrist coloured. "Of course, mi'lord. I shall organise a search party now. What shall we do when we find them?"</p><p>"You shall find the girl Elwing, confirm that she has in her possession a small wooden box, and detain her until my arrival." </p><p>Laegrist nodded. "So shall I do, lord." He turned and collected the party. Maglor set out with his own, heading off in the south, rather than the west. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The snow was coming down with vengeance, and Maglor cursed Manwë not for the first time. It was cold, so cold, and his party was slowing and his mount was beginning to weary, and he needed to turn back. </p><p>The snow covered even their own tracks, and they could hardly see the trees before them. There was no sign of the refugees, and they would likely have frozen, anyway. He would have to look again after the storm had passed. Now he had other things to see to. </p><p>Menegroth was still in shambles. The host of Feänorianath was encamped around the halls, and a large tent had been erected to house the wounded. Maglor had been able to ignore his knifed calf because of sheer adrenaline, but now he needed tending to. He made his way around the camp, takin toll of the dead and wounded, confirming what he could. By the time he made it to the makeshift hospital, walking was nearly impossible. </p><p>Limping through the isles of injured and dying and the worried healers, he made his way to a bed and sat down. Pulling off his boot was more painful than it had any right to be, and he gritted his teeth against a groan. A healer hurried to his side, and began cleaning his wound. </p><p>Sitting silently, Maglor felt odd, empty, like he hadn't felt in a long time. This entire time he'd been forcing himself distant from the horrors of kinslaying. Now he did not need to try. He felt weightless, floating deep in a pool of utter unlight, screaming to no avail because no one could hear his cries.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I love Laegrist. Translated as Green Sword by the way. I wish I could include him in more stories, but he'd be dead. *cries in a corner* </p><p>Also Mags isn't insane or cruel here. He's just trying to push down his true emotions to hold himself together. Don't worry, it'll hit him later. Hard.</p><p>Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! I think writing distressing things is therapeutic, because the worse my day is, the more sad the story. I like it though. </p><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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